What She Wants
by BinahBee
Summary: Doesn't Marcus deserve a second chance? All feedback very much appreciated!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: Don't own ... no profit ... etc, etc, etc.

Notes: Assumes canon through Season Four and departs from there on out.

**What She Wants**

Time is a funny thing. _Amazing how fast it moves when you're not watching, and how slowly when you are_, Sheridan thought. Two years since Marcus died. They'd moved fast, impossibly so, with his attention elsewhere. Six weeks since Franklin announced he had a plan to revive him. Time had slowed down, then, anticipation dragging the days along. Twenty-four hours since Franklin had unfrozen the body and reattached it to life support systems. Sheridan had found himself counting his breaths as he looked at Marcus, hoping in spite of himself that he would open his eyes. And the last two hours? Excruciating, as Franklin and his team had set up the operating theater and prepared the donors who sat and waited. And waited. And waited ....

Despite his best efforts, the doctor still didn't understand how the alien machine worked. He had figured out how to duplicate the connectors, though, and discovered that by hooking up multiple donors in parallel, he could deliver a full charge to the recipient without draining the donors too badly. At least, that was the theory.

"It worked on the rats," Franklin had said.

"That's great, doctor," Sheridan had replied, "but in case you hadn't noticed, Marcus isn't a rat." Nevertheless, he had given Franklin the go-ahead to try the experiment, and the doctor had sent out a call for volunteers.

Now, they waited to begin. The "healing" device, which had once looked like an ornate box, now looked like a bloated spider in the middle of a web of connections. Sheridan couldn't help but imagine Marcus as its prey. His body lay next to the machine, tubes and monitors strapped to every available surface, life support systems oxygenating and circulating his blood. Although he knew Marcus was the recipient this time, the cuff strapped to Marcus's wrist reminded Sheridan of a manacle. He looked down at the cuff strapped to his own wrist. _I know too much about what this thing can do_, Sheridan thought. _And here I am, playing with it again._

Despite the fact that Franklin had chosen one of the larger operating rooms, the space was overcrowded with participants and the excitement was palpable. The doctor had insisted that all the donors be seated for the process and he and the med techs had to weave their way among the chairs and connectors. Although, Sheridan reflected, perhaps the chairs were for the medics' benefit as much as the donors'. The connector cables would have gotten a lot more tangled if everyone was free to move.

Next to him, Ivanova fidgeted in her seat, massaging her wrist under the cuff. She had scheduled an emergency "vacation" in order to be present, and had arrived only the night before. Her expression changed by the moment and Sheridan could only guess at her thoughts. Impatience was clearly foremost. Through the observation window, he could see Captain Lochley frowning in concentration. If this worked, there would be complications for her, in either explaining it to her superiors, or concealing it. If it failed dramatically, she would have another series of problems, as she tried to explain how she had let the President of the Interstellar Alliance get killed in a medical experiment on her station. She had almost forbidden the procedure and it had required all of Sheridan's powers of persuasion to push the process forward.

Beside Lochley, Delenn stood with arms crossed, her face showing mingled hope and concern. Although she had volunteered to donate, she had been refused, on the grounds that Franklin could only guess what non-human energy would do to a human recipient. Sheridan found this amusing, as he knew full well that Franklin was only guessing at everything else in this process, but he and Delenn had bowed to the doctor's authority. Delenn met his eye and smiled reassuringly at him. Her lips moved a little; Sheridan thought she might be praying.

The only person in the room who didn't seem nervous (well, the only living person, Sheridan amended with morbid humor) was the doctor, who was too busy checking and double-checking every piece of the process to bother with mere emotion. After what seemed like hours of repetitive activity, Franklin gestured for the med techs to step back to the fringes of the room, each one assigned to monitor one or more of the donors. Franklin himself stood by the machine, monitoring Marcus. "Ready?" he asked.

The response from the room was non-verbal, but unquestioningly affirmative. Franklin flipped the switch on the auto-timer. Sheridan immediately felt the lassitude he remembered from his previous experience with the machine, a heaviness in his limbs and eyelids, a fog in his brain. After fifteen seconds, the machine turned off, and Sheridan took a deep breath.

And stared at the table.

And stared at the monitors.

And stared back at the table.

Around the room, he could hear people beginning to move, the donors shifting in their seats, the med techs checking on them. Sheridan looked at Marcus again, hoping for any sign that the process had succeeded, but there was no movement, not even a change in his color. Next to him, Ivanova was fending off a hovering med tech and struggling to remove her cuff.

"Everyone stay seated for a moment," Franklin instructed, "and let the techs look you over before you get up. Thank you all for volunteering. Please call tomorrow to check in and report if you have any symptoms or concerns." Ivanova ignored him and came over to the body; everyone else waited for the techs to finish their scans. "I'm sorry," Franklin said gently. "It was a long shot."

"I know," she said. She stood there, looking but not touching, as the donors and techs filtered out of the room one by one. Someone folded the chairs and carried them out. "I'll sit with him for a few minutes, if it's all right."

"Of course," Franklin said and ushered Sheridan out to his wife.

.

Ivanova, Sheridan and Delenn were sitting together in silent commiseration when the call came through from Franklin's office. "Oh good, you're all there. I've got news. I switched off the life support to put Marcus back in cryo and his heart kept beating!"

The three looked at each other in shock. "Is he awake?"

Franklin shook his head. "He's in a deep coma. The autonomic functions are working but other than that, brain function is minimal."

"Should we come down and try again?"

The doctor held up a cautionary hand. "I don't want to overdo it, for him or for you all. Let's see if he improves on his own, first. I just wanted you to know."

"Thanks, Stephen." Sheridan switched off the com. "This calls for a celebration!"

.

Stephen waited a week before calling for a new group of volunteers and trying again. Although Marcus continued stable, the machine seemed to have no further impact. Susan felt oddly betrayed, though whether by Stephen, by the machine, or by Marcus himself she couldn't tell. Even though it seemed pointless, she spent an hour or two a day sitting at his bedside. Sometimes she talked to him quietly, telling him stories about her past. Sometimes she scrutinized the medical monitors, trying to identify any changes – a meaningless exercise, since she really didn't understand the numbers. Mostly, though, she simply sat.

She wondered, looking at him on the bed, if he hadn't been better off in cryo after all. Someone had shaved him and trimmed his hair -- she supposed it made sense for hygiene, but without his beard and mustache, he looked younger and even sicker than he had before. If it was possible to look sicker than being in a coma. Susan suddenly wished she was back on the _Titans_, and felt faintly guilty at the thought. _Maybe I'll contact the ship tonight, check in_, she thought. _Another week of "vacation" — I could always leave early._

Something made her look up. Afterward, she wasn't sure what it was, though she supposed it must have been a noise. Marcus's eyes were open.

"Marcus?"

He stared at her in silence.

"Marcus, can you hear me?" She touched his cheek. His skin felt warm.

"Yes," he said, though she could barely hear him.

"You're awake!"

"What happened?" He had to work to make the words come out.

"You've been in a coma."

No response.

"I'm going to go get Stephen to take a look at you, all right?"

By the time she returned with the doctor, he was unconscious again.

.

According to the medical monitors, Marcus woke three more times over the next day, but Susan was present only once. She thought he recognized her, but he didn't say her name and he seemed to have no memory of their previous conversation. He asked the same question and she gave the same answer. At least his eyes seemed a little more focused and he stayed awake for a couple moments longer.

If he couldn't remember anything, Susan hoped he at least understood what she was saying. As much as she wanted him to be up and talking, it was probably for the best that he slept for hours at a time. She decided to camp out next to his bed, to be there every time he came to.

.

"Hey."

Susan looked up. "You're awake!" She smiled. "How do you feel?"

His voice was quiet but clearer. "Like I've been run over. What happened?"

Susan tried to stifle her disappointment. "You've been in a coma."

"What happened?"

"You've been in a coma."

Marcus nodded faintly. "Yes, but why?"

"What do you remember?"

Marcus was silent for a long while. Susan wondered if he'd fallen asleep again.

"There was a battle," he said, somewhat tentatively.

"That's right," she said in surprise.

"Did we win?"

"We did."

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"You're the last one left in the hospital." She hoped Marcus wouldn't press her for more details.

"How long was I out?"

Another question that didn't require details; _you've been dead for almost two __years_ seemed like more information than Marcus needed. "A while, now." She grinned at him. "It's good to hear your voice again."

He smiled a little back at her. "Funny, normally you can't wait for me to shut up." At the look on her face, he added, "Joking! Really! What's wrong?"

Susan forced a smile of her own. "We were worried about you. Do you think you can stay awake for a little bit? I'd like Stephen to check on you."

"I'll try."

Much to her surprise, Marcus was still awake when she returned. Even though he fell asleep halfway through the exam, Susan found herself smiling for the rest of the day.

.

Over the next few days, Susan continued to visit Marcus for several hours at a time. Mostly, he slept, but it was a true sleep, not unconsciousness, and she found it reassuring to sit near him, paging through ship's reports and listening to him breathe. When he was awake, she propped the bed so that he could sit and they talked about anything and nothing. Marcus gradually began to remember their conversations, picking up the next one where the last left off. Eventually, Susan told him part of the truth, that he had been out of commission for nearly two years.

"Two _years?_"

"Yeah, two years."

"Two _years?_ That's ... impossible ... isn't it? ... Two years?"

Susan shook her head.

"But, that's ... This isn't a joke?"

"No joke. Really. Two years."

"What ... what's happened in two years?"

"A lot. The war is over, for starters. That battle you remember, it was the final battle of the war. And I'm a captain, now, commanding the destroyer _Titans_."

"That's wonderful! Congratulations! But ... that means you're not on Babylon 5 anymore. What are you doing here? And who's keeping everyone in line if you're gone?"

"I'm on vacation. Came back to visit everyone. Captain Lochley's running the show here, now. Sheridan resigned his commission after the battle, and accepted the presidency of the Interstellar Alliance. He and Delenn got married shortly afterward.

"The Interstellar what? And wait, did you say _married_?"

Susan grinned. "Mm-hmm. Married.

"Just my luck. Finally some good times around here and I miss the party."

Susan grinned. "You also missed the christening. Their son was born almost a year ago."

Marcus stared in shock. "A son ... I can't believe it." He shook his head.

"Garibaldi's doing well, too. He returned to the fold briefly, then hooked up with an old girlfriend on Mars. The wedding was last year."

"I'll be damned! Is everyone getting married? Let me see your hand."

Ivanova displayed her right hand and Marcus scowled. "The other one!"

She held up her left.

"No rings," Marcus observed. He squinted at her in suspicion. "Tell the truth. You and Stephen are secretly engaged, aren't you?"

Susan laughed. "Marcus, I can't tell you how good it is to have you back." She fell silent for a moment. "My vacation's almost over – I'm going to have to leave for the _Titans _tomorrow. I'll stop in to see you again before I go. Is there anything I can bring you? Some books?"

Marcus sighed. "I tried to read yesterday, couldn't concentrate long enough to get anywhere. How about headphones? I could jack into the system, listen to something."

"All right. I'll get you some. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Good night," Marcus called as Ivanova left. He shook his head. "Two years," he muttered to himself. "Two years? What the hell? _Two years_."

.

After Susan returned to her ship, they corresponded once or twice a week via com messages. Marcus reported on his continuing progress, the tortures imposed by his new physical therapist, and the latest gossip in the medical ward. In turn, Susan relayed tales of their travels (the unclassified bits, anyway) and the stupidity she was forced to deal with, most of it, thankfully, from civilian incompetents rather than her own crew.

It was like picking a scab, in a way. It had been no time at all for him, but it had been two years for her and she was half-way across the galaxy. And what chance would he have of getting posted to an Earth Alliance warship? The White Star fleet had offered him a unique opportunity to be by her side. Out of morbid curiosity, Marcus logged into the Babylon computer system and looked up her current Executive Officer, who turned out to be male, and young, and bloody good-looking. He turned off the console before the ever-present medical monitors picked up an increase in blood pressure and wondered if he could persuade Stephen to push his physical therapy up from three days a week to four.

.

It was nearly two months PC (Post-Coma, as he had taken to thinking of time), before Marcus became bored enough to hack into the computer to access his own medical records. The words "dead" and "cryo" reverberated again and again in his head, to the point where he had trouble taking in the rest of the file. Why hadn't anyone told him how he really – God, it was hard to say – _died_, instead of telling him he'd been injured in battle? Except, the question was its own answer, and as he thought back, he realized no one _had_ lied to him. He'd leaped to the obvious conclusion and they let him do it, encouraged it even, but hadn't ever lied. It made sense, too, because he'd been in shock for two weeks after he learned how much time he'd lost. The medical records made it clear how fragile he had been early on.

He placed a call. "Stephen? I need to talk a bit. No, not an emergency, but it might take a while. Can you stop by when you're free?"

.

A formal apology, according to proper Minbari ritual, was a complicated affair with prescribed roles for both the aggrieved and the apologetic and requiring a full supporting cast of witnesses. As he was still having trouble standing for any length of time, Marcus knew he wasn't up to offering the apology in its finest form, but he gave his best approximation the next time Sheridan and Delenn came to visit, calling Stephen into the room to hear his part of the apology and requesting a few med techs for witnesses.

He apologized for disobeying orders, for running out on the battle, for betraying the trust of his fellow Rangers and the allied forces, for endangering lives by leaving, and for breaking into Stephen's files. He tendered his resignation from the Rangers as a sign of his sincerity and begged that they name any act of penance or restitution they felt appropriate. He requested their forgiveness to whatever extent they felt they could give it.

Stephen, who seemed taken aback by the entire process, insisted that no apology was necessary and that all was forgiven. Sheridan took the apology more seriously and responded with equal formality, though he clearly was not familiar with the Minbari ritual. He accepted Marcus's apology and stated, both for himself personally and in his role as President of the Interstellar Alliance, that Marcus's resignation was both necessary and sufficient restitution, in light of the personal price he had paid for his decision.

Delenn alone seemed prepared to demand more of Marcus. She declared that she accepted his apology, but would give him her full forgiveness only on condition that he committed to paying off any other debts he owed and forgave himself any debts he could not pay, so that he could begin his new life without impediment from the past. Once before, Delenn had challenged Marcus to let go of his past. This time, her words had new teeth and Marcus gave her his promise.

Sheridan surprised him then by opening a new topic, less somber but no less serious. Since Marcus had obviously delved into the events of the past, Sheridan now had the opportunity to thank him for saving Susan's life. Delenn and Stephen joined him in their thanks and asked Marcus to name any way they could express their gratitude.

Marcus thought seriously before making his request: he asked them to promise not to discuss the matter with Susan. She had obviously started her own new life; she, too, should be allowed to do so without impediment from the past. Judging by their expressions, none of them agreed with him, but they all gave him the promise as requested.

When silence finally fell, Stephen demanded to know if they were done and then declared they had had enough serious conversation for one day. His patient was tired. He shooed the med techs back to work and escorted Sheridan and Delenn out of the room.

Behind them, Marcus stared at the ceiling, his mind whirling like a hurricane. Everything seemed out of place, intertwined and disconnected at the same time. He stayed awake for hours after they'd gone, skipping back and forth through memories of Susan, of the war, of the Rangers. He understood the choices he had made. He understood why he had made them and he did not regret them, especially his last and most important choice. But he hadn't thought about consequences at the time. He hadn't expected to have any. _Mental note_, he thought to himself, _next time you decide do something drastic, be sure to make contingency plans for after you die._

.

Even the most incomprehensible things become routine with time. Marcus soon stopped questioning his bizarre second life and started nagging Stephen to discharge him, which the doctor eventually did, albeit with strict orders to check in on a regular basis and to report on time for physical therapy. His old quarters had long since been reassigned. Instead of returning to the Ranger area, Marcus rented a room on Deck 15, a small cubby with a bed and a fresher. After a little research, he found that someone had boxed up his things when he died, and, lacking a next-of-kin to send them to, had placed them in long-term storage.

He retrieved the boxes and sorted through them, keeping out his limited supply of civilian clothes and a pile of books. He repackaged his Ranger uniforms and ID separately and marked them for delivery to the Ranger quartermaster. His pike and crystal brooch that had marked his membership in the Rangers were gone; he supposed someone had removed them from his body before he went into cryo. He would miss them, but he recognized that it was for the best. The pike had been passed down to him and the pin had been his brother's; they both carried obligations and memories. Delenn was right, as usual. That life was over and it was time to move on to the next one. After looking around the little room, he resealed the remaining boxes and returned them to storage.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the following weeks, Marcus took the occasional translating job, passed on to him by Delenn. He was grateful for the few hours of work, both for the money and the distraction, but he didn't have the physical or mental energy for anything more rigorous. For the most part, he divided his time among walks in the Garden, reading books, physical therapy, and decadent naps.

It was both liberating and disorienting to have no responsibilities. On Arisia, he'd been involved in the family business and the endless details of the mining operation had absorbed his time and attention. Afterward, his life had been dedicated to fighting the Shadows. When he wasn't fighting, he was studying or training or organizing the other Rangers, a proposition not unlike running a business in some ways. At any rate, it was just as time consuming. But now? Without commitments or goals, Marcus found himself at a loss for what to do next.

Despite his best intentions, some of Marcus's indecision must have come through in his messages to Susan. In her most recent message, she had expressed concern about a change in him, though she hadn't been sure what prompted it. Marcus found himself unable to come up with a good answer. _I'll think about it and get back to her_, he decided. He rifled through his stack of well-worn books, selected a Sabatini, and lost himself in the French Revolution.

.

"Hello sir, how are you doing?"

"Good, Ivanova, it's good to hear from you. How are things at your end?"

"Going well. We just took on a new bunch of cadets and they're keeping things lively by tripping over their own feet. We'll have them in order by the end of the cruise."

Sheridan laughed. "I'm sure you will. So, is this a social call or a business call?"

"Social. I want to know what's going on with Marcus. He's holding out on me."

"What do you mean?"

"He was sending me messages once a week, sometimes more if he was particularly bored. Now it's down to every other week, and there's nothing about _him_ in them. When I called him on it, he gave me that impossibly innocent face and told me he had no idea what I was talking about."

"A sure sign of guilt."

"We're going to be in your neighborhood shortly. I thought I'd take the opportunity to come out and kick his ass. But I figured I should call you for information before I did."

"Wanted to know how to aim your kicks?"

Ivanova grinned. "Something like that."

"Well, I don't think I've got anything to report."

"You haven't noticed anything?"

"Nothing to report."

"Okay, thanks."

.

"Stephen, how are you doing?"

"Fine, Susan, good to hear from you. It's been a while. How are things going?"

"Good, fine. How are things with you?"

"Great. So what's up?"

"Well, I was just wondering how things are going with Marcus."

"Marcus? Why do you ask?"

"I haven't heard from him recently. I was just curious."

"Oh, well, I'm sure if anything was going on, he'd have let you know."

"So … _is_ anything going on?"

"Well, you know, doctor-patient confidentiality. I really can't discuss details of his case."

.

"Delenn, it's been a long time."

"It's good to hear from you, Susan. How are you doing?"

"Oh, fine. But, I was hoping you could help me out with something."

Delenn raised her eyebrows and looked helpful.

"You know Marcus better than anyone. Has he seemed … okay recently?"

"You are worried about him?"

"Well, it's just that I haven't heard from him lately. And he was calling me pretty regularly for a while there. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right."

"Well, I really couldn't say."

"You haven't seen him?"

"No, it's just that … I couldn't say."

"What do you mean, you can't say?"

Pause.

"Delenn, _is_ everything all right with Marcus?"

Silence.

"Delenn?"

"I'm sorry, Susan, I … it's just that …you see, I can't discuss him with you. I promised."

"You promised? Promised who? Promised _Marcus_?"

Delenn gave her an apologetic smile.

"Did he say _why_?"

Delenn added a helpless little shrug to the apologetic smile.

"Did he by any chance also ask _John _and_ Stephen _not to talk to me?"

Delenn added a hint of embarrassment to the helpless shrug and the apologetic smile.

"So, I don't suppose you _could_ tell me if there's anyone who _can _talk to me?"

.

Delenn was not surprised to receive a second call later that day.

"Ambassador Delenn."

"Chief Allen. How can I help you?"

"I'm just calling to … thank you … for the experience I just had."

"I take it you received a call from Captain Ivanova."

"Indeed I did."

"I'm so glad you could help her. I was sure you'd be able to."

"I appreciate your confidence in me. And I would take it as a _personal _favor if, the next time the Captain goes on a fact-finding mission, you would give her someone _else's _name."

"Of course, Chief. Of course."

.

The door bleeped and Marcus looked up from his book in surprise. "Enter."

"Marcus."

"Susan! My God, you look great! Come in! I can't believe you're here! When did you get in?" Marcus rose to greet her and was brought up short by the look on her face.

"Don't 'Susan' _me_. You have a lot to answer for. What do you think you're doing, holding out on me? How come you didn't tell me what's going on? That you resigned? That you're living _here_?"

"I didn't think it was import—"

"The hell you didn't! You knew perfectly damn well I'd want to know!"

"You're right, I should have told you."

"And what do you think you're doing telling everyone not to talk to me? If I want information about you, you're damn well going to give it to me and so is everyone else."

"It was foolish of me."

"Damn right it was foolish of you! And now you've made me go to all the trouble of coming out here to kick your ass in person, except you're so damn skinny I'd probably hurt my foot. Do you think we brought you back from the dead so you could not take care of yourself?"

"I'm eating ... I'm getting stronger ..."

"Not enough! If I say you're too skinny, you're too skinny!"

"Yes, Ivanova."

"And don't just stand there agreeing with me when I'm yelling at you!"

"I'm ... sorry?"

.

"Dr. Franklin."

"Chief. What can I do for you?"

"I just wanted to let you know that Captain Ivanova arrived on station a couple hours ago."

"Great! Thanks for letting me know. I'll give her a call."

Allen grimaced. "You might want to wait a while. She went directly over to Marcus Cole's quarters when she got in."

"Ah. Should I get the cryo chamber ready again?"

"Probably a good idea."

.

"So how are you? How's the baby?"

Delenn smiled. "Doing well. Want to see him? He's asleep, but if we're quiet ..."

Ivanova followed her into the baby's room and cooed dutifully. They tiptoed back out. "He's adorable. And growing! I'm sure he was only half that size last time I saw him."

"He is," Sheridan said proudly. "Sit down, sit down, let's have dinner. Tell me about your trip in. And have you seen Marcus yet?"

"First thing."

"How did it go?"

"After I made it clear to him that he was completely bone-headed and he was never to do anything of the sort again, he was properly apologetic, so I gave him a reprieve for the time being."

Sheridan and Delenn exchanged glances. "I see. I'm glad to hear he survived."

Ivanova nodded. "I'll check in on him tomorrow to make sure he made it through the night. And to take him to lunch. He's awfully thin. I don't think he's eating right."

.

The next day, Marcus met her at the restaurant as directed.

"Feeling better today?" he inquired, after they had received their orders.

"Much."

"I really am sorry I shut you out."

"Just don't do it again."

"I won't," he promised. "It _is_ good to see you," he added mildly.

"It's good to see you, too. How have you been, really?"

"Doing okay. Recuperation's going slow, but I keep making steady progress. Stephen says I'll likely get it all back, in time."

Susan bit her lip. "I never had a chance to thank you."

Marcus smiled. "You're welcome. And I think you already did thank me. You're the one who ordered me into cryo, weren't you?"

"I couldn't just let you go. Though if you ever do anything that dumb again, I will."

"I swear not to meddle with alien healing devices anymore."

"Glad to hear it. So how come you didn't want anyone talking to me?"

Marcus sighed. "It all seemed very ... complicated. It's been two years, for you. You had a new life already. And I still had to figure mine out."

"And have you? Figured it out, I mean?"

"No," he confessed. "I have no idea what comes next. I don't suppose you have any suggestions?"

"What do you want?"

Marcus froze and was silent for too long. "What I've always wanted," he finally admitted. "I'm just not sure what to do about it, now."

"Marcus—"

"Do you want to try some of the noodles?"

"Marcus—"

"They're really quite good."

"Marcus, let me talk. I owe you an apology. I wasn't fair to you. I'm sorry."

"You don't owe me anything."

"Yes I do. I ... took what you offered and didn't give you much in return."

Marcus chose his words with care. "Everything I offered, I wanted you to have. And I appreciated what you gave me. So we're even."

"It still doesn't seem very fair to me."

"In my experience, 'fairness' isn't really a good measure of human relationships. Susan, I don't have any regrets. About _anything_. Please don't second-guess yourself."

A long silence. "Maybe I will try the noodles."

"Here, help yourself."

.

That evening, Ivanova showed up at Sheridan and Delenn's door with a bottle of wine. After taking one look at her face, Delenn quickly excused herself, leaving her husband to handle their guest. Sheridan opened the bottle and poured out generous glasses.

"So, what's on your mind?"

"Marcus. What am I going to do about him?"

"Didn't you do enough already? I'm sure you've made your point. No need to give the poor man a relapse."

Ivanova glared at him, and Sheridan gave her a bland look in return.

"He's still in love with me."

"Susan, he loved you enough to die for you. That's not the sort of thing that disappears overnight. Not unless it turns to hate, and I don't see Marcus ever hating you."

"It might be easier if he did."

"Well, you could try being nasty to him and hope it drives him away."

Ivanova thought about a poster board and the Ottoman Empire. "Already tried that, remember? Failed spectacularly. What am I going to do, John?"

"I guess that depends on what you want. Which is the real problem here, isn't it?"

Susan grimaced and poured herself more wine. "I don't know what I want," she said.

Sheridan took a drink and regarded her steadily.

"Do you have any advice?" she prompted.

"Do you really want any?"

"Of course."

"Why? Your options are the same as they've always been."

She stared into her glass. "I'm not sure I'm the same as I've always been."

They drank in silence.

"A relationship with Marcus would be a terrible idea," she said finally.

"Mmm."

"I mean, all my relationships turn out terrible. And I don't know if he's ever had any relationships at all. It would be a lousy thing to do to him, get him involved in a terrible relationship like that. He'd probably be scarred for life."

"Probably."

"And the logistics would be impossible."

"Mmm."

"He's here, I'm off on the _Titans_. I'm only on station for a week."

"Very inconvenient."

"Long distance relationships are doomed from the start."

"Absolutely."

She finished off her drink and contemplated the empty bottle.

"So you're going to start something with him?"

"I didn't say that."

"If it's any consolation," Sheridan said, "I think you two are already in a relationship. How many other people would you have come all this way to yell at, just because they stopped calling you once a week?"

Ivanova looked pained. "I need more wine," she said. "Do you have any more wine around here?"

"Sure. Or, I've got some whiskey."

"Even better. Blot out this whole conversation."

"I'll go get it."

.

"Susan, are you all right?" Marcus asked, as Susan arrived late and somewhat haggard for their next lunch appointment.

"I've been better. I hit myself over the head with a bottle of whiskey."

"Ah." Marcus signaled the waiter. "Can we get a pitcher of water here? Thank you." He looked her over. "Any particular reason?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?"

"Can't argue with that." The water arrived and he poured her a glass. "Drink."

She obeyed, and he filled her glass again before filling his own.

"Did you at least have a good time? Keep drinking."

"Hard to remember."

"Well, that sounds promising, anyway."

"I talked to John last night."

"About what?"

"Us."

"Hmm. What about us, if I dare ask?"

"If we should get involved."

"Ah." He refilled her glass. "So did he argue for or against?"

"Neither. Mostly he just sat there and poured the whiskey."

"And how did you argue?"

"Both ways. I think. It's a little fuzzy. Do you still want to see me?"

"Not if it's going to drive you to drink."

Susan snorted. "I mean it. Are you still interested?"

Marcus hesitated. "Susan, yesterday, you were talking about owing me and today you're talking about getting involved. What is it _you_ want?"

"I'm not sure. But John pointed out that I don't cross a dozen light-years to yell at just anyone."

Marcus smiled. "In that case, why don't we put the relationship question aside for a bit and just try a date? Do you think you'd feel up to an evening out?"

"As long as it doesn't involve alcohol."

"I think we can manage that."

.

Marcus sent Ivanova back to her quarters with instructions to take a nap. He spent the next few hours reviewing the possibilities and making preparations before taking a nap of his own. That evening, he called her half-an-hour before the appointed time. Susan, who had just stepped out of the shower, accepted the call on voice only.

"Marcus, what's up?"

"Just trying to make some final arrangements. You have a choice of activities this evening. We could go down to the Zocalo. There are some new restaurants that have opened up since you left. Alternatively, if you want some peace and quiet, we could go over to the Garden and wander around for a bit, maybe have a picnic. If you would prefer some entertainment, the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra is on tour. They're performing tonight at the Rotunda. What's your pleasure?"

"You can get tickets to the Orchestra?"

"I'll see you in thirty minutes."


	3. Chapter 3

Marcus showed up promptly, carrying a package under one arm and a large bundle on his back. When she asked about them, he said, "Cover charge," and suggested that she leave her uniform jacket in her quarters.

This was the first Susan had heard that the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra had a cover charge, but it was clear that Marcus was not going to explain further. She followed him gamely down the concourse until he directed her into a tube and requested Brown Sector, level 6.

"Marcus, the Rotunda is in the Garden."

"So it is."

"So … we're not going to the Rotunda?"

"Mmm, no. Tickets sold out months ago. I couldn't get any on this short notice."

"So where are we going?"

He looked at her quizzically. "The Orchestra. That's what you wanted, right?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you can be really annoying when you're being mysterious?"

"It may have been mentioned once or twice."

.

They got off the tube in a maintenance shaft that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. And had a trail of footprints through the grime on the floor. Susan planted her feet and crossed her arms. "All right, Marcus. Where are we going?"

"To the Musical Anarchists' Free Expression Revolution and Floating Dinner Party."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Come on, we don't want to be late. They close the doors when the concert starts."

Susan shook her head and followed him through the corridors. "And what, exactly, is the Anarchy Dinner … Revolution Party … What did you call it?"

"Some enterprising music lovers who tap the mikes at the concert and broadcast it for a discerning but less well-heeled crowd."

The corridor opened out into a cavernous maintenance bay that, unlike the corridor, looked like it had been cleaned quite recently. And was full of people. Marcus handed his package over to a woman by the door and steered Susan inside. Looking around, she saw tables full of food and drink – the cover charge, to judge by the disposition of Marcus's package.

"You realize, don't you, that this is completely illegal."

"In the unlikely event of a Security crack-down, you may place the blame entirely upon me."

Susan looked around again. "Why _hasn't _Security cracked down on this? Concert tickets must cost 150 credits apiece and there are dozens of people here already."

"They only plan it after tickets are sold out, so it's easy to … officially ignore. Also, Security doesn't have to pay the cover charge."

"Unbelievable."

"Let's find some wall space before it gets any more crowded."

He led her over to an unoccupied area and unpacked his bundle, which turned out to contain cushions and a blanket.

"I can't believe I am going to listen to an illegal concert by the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra while sitting in a maintenance bay and eating a picnic dinner."

"We can do something else if you prefer ...."

"No, no, this is fine… this is great. Shall we go get some food?"

.

After dinner, they took off their shoes and sprawled on the blanket to listen. Someone actually dimmed the lights in the maintenance bay to better simulate a concert hall. Unlike in a concert hall, however, several people, including Marcus, produced candles. The overall effect was surprisingly intimate. Susan found herself studying Marcus through much of the first half. No doubt because she didn't have an orchestra to watch.

His hair had grown out some since his time in the hospital, and his beard and mustache were back to their familiar shape. He looks like himself again, she thought, and felt relieved. Amazing how much she depended on him to, well, be Marcus, and how unsettling a gap he'd left when he was gone. During the war, he had sometimes been absent from the station for weeks at a time, but she'd had no need to fill his place – he was unique and irreproducible, and she'd always had confidence that he was out there somewhere, being Marcus, and would still be Marcus when he returned. Which didn't make much sense, when she thought about it – who else would he be, after all? – but there it was. Perhaps, she admitted to herself, that was why she had felt compelled to come out and see him in person when he stopped talking to her; the thought that Marcus might have changed so much was alarming. She imagined Marcus falling out of love with her and that thought, too, was alarming. _I want to keep him as he is_, she thought. _He's ... what? Perfect? Beautiful? Mine? _ No matter how she finished the sentence, it was disturbing.

.

During intermission, the lights came up and they collected plates of dessert. "Enjoying the concert?" Marcus asked.

"Yes. Thank you. It was a good idea."

He looked pleased. "I'm glad you like it. How much longer are you on station?"

"Until the end of the week."

"Mmm. Well, I'm glad you could come out, even for just a few days. Where is the _Titans_ off to next? No, never mind. I'm sure it's confidential. How did you end up on a ship, anyway?" he added. "I seem to remember a conversation; you said that when the war was over, you wanted a posting on a planet. Am I remembering that right? What changed?"

Susan frowned. "I did want that. But then ... a planet is stationary, and I ... needed to get away."

"Did it work?"

_Coming back worked better_, she thought, but she just shrugged in reply.

.

During the second half of the program, Marcus settled himself on his back and stared at the shadows dancing on the ceiling. He had worn an emerald shirt, and in the candlelight, his eyes glowed an intense green. Susan let her herself linger on his face, the line of his cheekbones, the flow of his hair. Had he had gray, before? It looked good on him, anyway. His collar was open, framing the little dip at the base of his throat, and she could see the pulse there. _I bet he'd taste like chocolate right now,_ she thought.

Marcus met her eyes. She hoped she wasn't blushing.

.

After the concert, he escorted her back to her quarters and when they arrived, he thanked her. "I enjoyed myself immensely. I hope you'll let me take you out again before you leave."

"Yes," she said and swayed towards him.

"Good," he said. He took her hand and bowed a little over it. "Sleep well."

Susan blinked in surprise as he disappeared down the corridor.

.

The following morning, Susan screened Marcus, but he was not in his quarters. He returned her call at noon and explained he had been at physical therapy, a regular appointment.

"I thought about what you said last night, about taking me out again. I have a better idea. How about if I take you out tonight?"

Marcus gave her a pleased smile. "I accept."

.

That evening, Susan took him to the Zocalo's premier holo-arcade, where they spend a couple hours playing games and taking on all comers. They enjoyed an expensive dinner at the Fresh Aire Restaurant, then went down to the Gardens for a walk. As they strolled along, Susan slipped her hand into his and Marcus smiled at her. He found himself hyper-aware of the contact between them, of her nearness, even of the sounds and smells of the Garden. Marcus tried to remember the last time he'd held hands with a woman and was appalled to realize how long it had been. _I've been dead for a lot more than two__ years,_ he thought.

Susan led him over to a bench and they sat in companionable silence for a while. Marcus watched her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed relaxed. It was good to see; Susan seldom relaxed fully, in his experience.

"You know," she said at last, "I've really enjoyed these last few days."

"Me, too," he said. "I'm glad you came back."

"Part of me wishes I'd never left."

"What do you miss?"

"The people, the place." She took a breath. "You."

"That's very flattering."

"It's true." She glanced sideways at him.

Marcus hesitated. "It's been a long time," he said at last.

Susan gazed out over the Garden. "And your feelings have changed," she said.

"No," he said slowly, "but yours seem to have." She looked over at him again. "For a while there, you'd have been very happy to see the back of me."

She snorted. "Yeah." She shook her head. "That poster board ..."

"One of my sillier ideas, I admit, but it did the job."

"That it did."

Marcus stared at their hands, joined between them. "The thing is," he said, "it's very easy to mistake gratitude for something else."

Susan felt a wave of irritation – he thought she was just grateful? "It's been two years, for me," she pointed out. "Almost two and a half, now. I've had some time to think things through."

"Forgive me for saying it, but you still seemed pretty confused when you got here four days ago."

"Four days ago, I ... wasn't ready to admit my feelings. To you or anyone else."

"What changed?"

"You didn't."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You didn't change. You're still Marcus."

He looked at her a bit dubiously. "I should hope so. I've been Marcus for a long time now."

"Ahhh." She let go of him to scrub her face with her hands. "What I mean is... I don't know what I mean— yes, I do. You ... You're consistent. Reliable. Yourself. I ... don't find that very often. Especially in someone who says he loves me." There. She'd said the word. She found herself holding her breath.

"God knows I have many flaws, but fickleness has never been one of them."

Silence.

"Is constancy really all you hope for in a man? I can't possibly be the first to love you."

And now he'd said it. She could breathe again. "Love, no. Constancy has been in shorter supply."

"Is it love if it _isn't_ constant?"

Susan shrugged. "I don't know. I've spent a lot of time, over the last couple of years, wondering if I'd made a very stupid mistake. Holding back. And now I've got a second chance. I don't want to waste it." She searched for words in her somewhat rusty Minbari. "I think," she said slowly, "that you are an exceptionally beautiful and honest man." His eyes lit up and she switched back to English to continue, "and maybe I've cheated both of us by being a coward. I don't want to settle for the safe road this time." She held his gaze. "You told me, what you offered, you wanted me to have. I want more. I want _everything_."

Marcus searched her eyes for a long minute. "If that's really what you want," he said finally. "You can have anything you want." And then he was looking at her from much too close, and his lips were incredibly soft.

Susan let herself melt into sensation. After a small eternity, she pulled away and looked up at him. "So, just how much exertion can you handle right now?"

Marcus swallowed. "To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure. But I've been instructed to get as wide a variety of exercise as possible. To speed up my recovery, you know."

.

It was late morning before they finally thought about getting out of bed. Susan woke from another nap to find Marcus twirling her hair around his fingers. "Good morning," she said.

"Good morning to you, too!"

She watched him smugly, enjoying his obvious pleasure and deep contentment. "You like my hair."

"I do," he admitted. "Do you know, the first time I met you, you had your hair pulled back in that braid and I thought it was black. Then the light hit it, just so, and it _glowed_. I think I became a little obsessed with trying to figure out what color it really was."

Susan grinned. "You couldn't tell?" He didn't need to know, she decided, that she had tinted it several times over the course of their acquaintance. What was a relationship, after all, without a little mystery?

Marcus shook his head. "I kept staring at it, when I thought you weren't looking. I was terribly afraid you'd catch me at it."

"I never did."

"Thank heaven for that." He smiled at her. "I used to fantasize about running my fingers through it. The first time I saw it down, I swear to God, my hands _itched_. I had to lace them together to stop myself from touching you."

"So I guess I shouldn't cut it, then?" she teased.

"No! ... I mean ... please don't...."

Susan laughed. "C'mon. You can help me wash it."

.

After the shower, they dressed and Marcus lounged on the bed while Susan finished with her makeup. Some of the pleasures of being in a relationship had been entirely unanticipated. Watching Susan dress, for example. In all his many and varied fantasies, not once had he ever imagined watching her put her clothes _on_. It wasn't quite as much fun as watching her get _un_dressed, of course, but it definitely had its moments.

"Let's go get some food," she suggested, giving her hair a last pat.

"All right," Marcus said amiably. "But let's stop by my quarters first. I need some clean clothes."

Susan looped her arm through his as they strolled back to Marcus's quarters. Last night, Marcus had proved to be much the same in bed as he was out of it: intense, playful, and very, very talkative. He'd whispered praise and devotion in three different languages, only two of which she understood, and murmured poetry extolling her beauty. She was pretty sure he'd made up some of it on the spot.

His inexperience had been obvious but he had assured her with a delightfully straight face that he was prepared to spend hours and hours practicing anything she liked until he met her most demanding standards. In truth, Susan didn't expect it to take him all that long to achieve proficiency. Marcus was a quick study and took direction well. This morning, her body thrummed with a pleasant sense of relaxation and well-being. _God_, she thought, _it's been far too long since I got laid_.

Arriving at his quarters, Susan poked around the tiny room while Marcus sorted through his things. "I don't know, Marcus, is this place an apartment or a broom closet?"

"A broom would give it more atmosphere. But it was cheap."

"Good to know it's got _something_ going for it." She discovered a box full of meal bars. "What's this?"

He looked over. "Ration bars."

"I meant, what are you doing with an entire box of these things?"

"This place doesn't have a kitchenette. I have to keep some kind of food around."

Susan was starting to scowl. "Have you been _living on_ these things? Marcus, these are _not_ real food."

Marcus glanced guiltily at the box. The bars were energetically balanced and nutritionally complete. They required neither refrigeration nor heating. And, above all, they were inexpensive. Of course, they also tasted like artificially-flavored cardboard. It was possible he _hadn't_ been eating quite enough. "I snack on them, sometimes," he said. Which was true, as far as it went ....

He hastily selected his clothes and, hoping to distract her, started changing. The ploy didn't work quite as well as he'd planned, because while she did stop to watch him, she also started muttering darkly about counting his ribs and not taking care of himself. He finished quickly and hustled her out of the apartment before she could work herself up to a full-fledged rant.

.

Over the next two days, they spent more time in bed than out of it. Even when they were up, they stayed close, touching frequently. They did pass some time with their friends, but their attempts to maintain a decorous distance fooled absolutely no one. Marcus drifted through the hours feeling slightly intoxicated, trying not to think about Susan's imminent departure; he waited until an afternoon when they were both fully clothed and reasonably coherent to bring up the topic of the future. "When's your vacation over?"

"Day after tomorrow. Shuttle leaves at 1500."

"I'm going to miss you."

"Yeah, me too."

He stared off into the distance. "So what happens then?"

"It's going to be a while before I can get leave again."

"I figured as much. I wish we still worked together. Or anyway, worked near each other."

"I'm sure you would liven up the _Titans_, but I don't think I have enough pull to get you a berth. Even being the captain."

"I suppose not."

Silence.

"Do you regret ..." Susan trailed off and Marcus frowned at her.

"No regrets. Not ever." Marcus watched her face. "Do you?"

"No. But why is it that being alone for months on the _Titans_ seemed perfectly all right before and now I'm dreading it?"

"Because you know what you're missing?" Marcus leered.

Susan made a face at him. "Probably."

"You know, if you ever get the urge to go back to your original plan – get an assignment planetside – there's nothing tying me here."

"You want me to transfer?"

He shrugged carefully. "That's your call, not mine. I'm just saying, if you decide to, I'm free to go where I please right now."

"But in the future you might not be." Her voice became a little flat.

"I have no idea what I'll be doing in the future." He glanced over at her. "Although, I don't intend to run off and sign up with any more military organizations."

"Had enough of that, huh?"

"I think I'll quit while I'm ahead."

"Do you want me to transfer?"

"Anything that lets me see you in person more than once or twice a year is good in my book."

"God, is it really going to be that little?"

He shrugged. "You know your leave schedules better than I do."

She grimaced. "Once or twice a year is about right." She thought for a long minute. "You know, this really isn't fair to you. I'm stuck on a ship. I can't date one of my own crew. But you're here. There's no reason you have to be effectively single for eleven months out of the year."

"If you're going to suggest that I date other people, you can stop right there. I'm not interested."

"Six months is a long time to wait to see someone, Marcus."

He looked pointedly at her. "How long have you been going between dates? And how long was I single before you got here? If you think this was a mistake, or maybe it was fine for a few days but you've had enough, say so. But don't tell me what _I _want."

"You're not a mistake."

Marcus hadn't realized he was holding his breath. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Do you want me to transfer?"

"You know, that's the third time you've asked me that. What do you want me to say?"

"What you're thinking."

"I'm wondering what _you_ want."

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Susan demanded.

Marcus just looked at her with an infuriating expression of patient amusement.

"I'll think about it," she grumped.

.

Marcus was prepared to cancel his physical therapy appointment for the following morning, but Susan insisted he go. "I want you to take care of yourself," she said. She didn't say, "I want some time to think," but Marcus might have heard it anyway, because he went off to the appointment without complaint. Susan accompanied him as far as the medical levels, then detoured into Stephen's office.

"Hey, Stephen. Got time for a visit?"

Stephen smiled, but glanced at the clock before replying. "Sure, for a few minutes. Have a seat. How's your vacation going?"

"Good." She tried not to smirk, but didn't manage to contain it completely.

"Looks like _very _good to me."

The smirk escaped. "Okay, _very _good."

He grinned back at her. "Glad to hear it. Where's your shadow?"

"At physical therapy."

"It's good to see you two having fun. You deserve it."

"Stephen, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How do you know where to draw the line? Between work and personal life."

Stephen sat back. "I don't know that I'm the person to ask about that. I've never been good at compromising."

"Me neither."

"Is he asking you to?"

"No, he's not."

"So … the problem is?"

"If I let things go on as they are, I don't know that we'll have much of a relationship. I'll see him maybe once or twice a year."

"That's not much of a relationship," Stephen agreed. "Though I guess some people make it work."

"I'm not good at making relationships work with someone who is only _meters_ away, never mind _light years__._"

"Doesn't bode well, then."

"Marcus pointed out that if I transferred to another assignment, someplace not on a ship, we could actually see each other."

"I thought you said he wasn't asking you to compromise on your career."

"He's _not_. In fact, no matter how many times I asked him, he explicitly _refused_ to ask me to transfer. He's leaving the ball entirely in my court."

"Well, it is your decision to make."

"Tell me about it." Susan glared at Stephen. "And _don't _ask me what do I want."

Stephen snapped his mouth shut. "O—kay."

"That's all anybody's asked me all week," she muttered apologetically.

He looked at her in silence.

Susan sighed. "I want to keep seeing him. But, this is awfully new. It seems…rash…to just decide to pick up and move."

"Define 'new'. You worked together for two years. You've probably got a pretty good idea of what you're signing up for."

"If I go ahead and make a move, I'm signing up for … a commitment, I guess, and I'm not ready for that. But if I don't move, I'm going back to the way it was before, where Marcus gave and I took, because I already know he's going to go along with whatever I decide, even if it's better for me than it is for him. And that leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

"Tough call."

She looked at him sourly. "You're not going to give me any advice, are you?"

"Nope. But I will point out that transferring commits you to a new job. It doesn't commit you to Marcus."

"Good point. Thanks, Stephen."

"You're welcome. Any time."

.

That evening, Susan informed Marcus that she would keep an eye open for transfer possibilities. "It might take a while to find something interesting," she warned him. "Probably six months or more until something good comes up, and longer to push a transfer through."

"However long it takes, I'll be waiting." She looked at him a little dubiously, and he shrugged. "I'm used to long-distance relationships. I ran a mining company," Marcus added by way of explanation. "We spent all our time in the middle of nowhere, picking up rocks. There weren't all that many women who were interested in the work, but even the few who were, I couldn't very well date my own employees. Relationships sort of _had_ to be long-distance and you just saw each other when you could."

Susan tried not to show her surprise. Given Marcus's lack of experience with sex, she had never imagined he might be highly experienced in any _other_ aspects of dating. In fact, she had pictured him living in some sort of monastery, having only the most sheltered contact with the opposite sex. She suddenly had the feeling that the long-distance relationship she had been dreading might be more ... interesting ... than she had anticipated. "I can't make any guarantees about where I'll end up."

"That's okay, I'm not picky. Well, actually, I am picky. I want someplace warm. But not too hot. With beaches. And good food. And some nightlife."

She smiled. "Why don't you move in here for the duration, and as soon as we find out where I'll go, you can make arrangements to join me?"

"You mean this apartment?" He hesitated. "If it were only going to be a month, I'd do it, but like you said, it could be six months, or even more. I can't afford this place for six months."

"Do you need money?"

"I'm okay for now. I'm picking up some work. This much just isn't in my budget."

"You said your room was cheap, but I didn't think it was that much of an issue for you. I hate to think of you living in that broom closet for the next six months," she said. "It's depressing."

"Depressing is not having you with me. A small room is not a problem."

She sat up to glare at him and Marcus forced his eyes back up to her face. "It's a hole in the wall. Promise me you're going to take care of yourself after I leave. I don't want to come back here in six months and find you living in squalor and eating fake food."

"I'll take care of myself," he promised.

She looked at him suspiciously. "Meaning ... ?"

"I'll fatten myself up for you, okay?"

"Not good enough. Promise me you'll move into better quarters as soon as you can afford it. And you will actually go out and eat real food. I mean every day, Marcus. No more living on those goddamn rations. And you'll tell me if you do need money."

"What do I need more space for? A bigger bed to sleep in by myself? I guess you never saw my old quarters, but I didn't use half the space there." Marcus gave her a calculating look. "But I'll promise to go out for a meal every day and tell you if I need money, if you make me a promise in return."

She raised her eyebrows.

"No more running away from me when you get scared. You have to promise to run _to_ me from now on. Even if it's me you're scared of."

Ivanova sucked in a breath and blew it out. "You're asking a lot."

He waited. "If you come to me, I can fix it. If you take a new post on a warship half-way across the galaxy, it's a lot harder."

"Marcus, all my life, people have walked out on me. I know you're not planning on going anywhere now, but I'm not accustomed to relying on people like that."

"You know, you're not the only one who's going to get hurt if this falls apart. I've got a vested interest in making it work."

"I know that, but.... dammit, I don't know if I _can_."

"And if you can't? What chance do we have?"

"Look, give me some time."

"No."

"What?"

"No. I won't give you some time. You need to make a decision. Are you serious about this or not?"

"I am serious about it, but ...."

"Then promise."

"Marcus, if I promise and you let me down, I'll hunt you down and kill you, I swear to God I will!"

"All right, that's fair. I'm not going anywhere."

"You say that now."

"I've said that all along. Susan, you tell me, when have I run out on you? When you were dying? When?"

"You _did_ leave me! You left me to pick up the pieces by myself!"

"I did not! I left you with Sheridan and Stephen and Delenn to help you pick up the pieces. And if you're going to ask me to promise not to save your life, forget it."

Susan was silent for a long moment. "Look, Marcus, I just don't know if I can do this. I'm terrible at relationships."

"I'll take terrible. I'm not asking you to do it well, just to do it at all."

"I'm afraid!"

"So am I. But I know I've never wanted anything more than I want to be with you, and I'll do anything you need to make it happen."

"I don't want to get hurt again."

"I know. And I can't promise I won't ever hurt you, but I can promise I'll always try to make it right if I do."

"I want to believe you ..."

"But?"

"But I don't know if I can."

"So you're not willing to even try? Because you might fail?"

"I've always failed in the past."

"Well, that's because you weren't with _me_."

Susan laughed in spite of herself. "Your modesty knows no bounds, Marcus."

"Thank you. So come on, give me your word."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?

"Not a chance."

"I don't know, Marcus."

"What's it going to take to convince you?"

"I don't know! Maybe I can't be convinced!"

"That's right, maybe you can't. So you just have to take a leap of faith. Promise me, Susan!"

"Marcus ..."

"Promise me!"

"Marcus ..."

"Promise!"

"ALL RIGHT! I PROMISE!"

Silence while she buried her face in his neck. "Thank you," he murmured and stroked her hair. "Thank you."

.

They lingered in bed for as long as they dared, but shuttles wait for no-one. While Marcus showered, Susan packed. She emerged from her own shower to find Marcus poking under the bed in a fruitless hunt for his undershirt. "Want me to look in here?" she asked, rummaging in her bag. "Might have gotten tossed in."

Marcus shook his head and pulled on his shirt. "Don't worry about it."

Susan ignored him and kept digging. "Wait, I've got something of yours."

"You've got several things of mine," Marcus said, "starting with my heart." He stared as she turned back to him. "How did you get those?"

She flushed. "I took them. Two years ago. I ... wanted to have something of you with me on the _Titans_. I should have given them back to you before, but ... I didn't."

"These aren't supposed to leave Ranger hands." Marcus reached for the pike; it felt surprisingly good to hold it again.

"I did ask Delenn before I took them. She said I could have them. To remember you by."

He felt even more surprised than before. "She said that?"

Susan nodded. He flicked the pike open and shut, then tucked it away in his jacket. "I'll take this. It's probably time I started practicing with it again. But why don't you hold on to the brooch? You can give it back to me next time."

"All right," she said, and put it back in her bag. When she turned back, she was smiling.


End file.
